


Chambers

by localoracle



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: :(, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, haurchefant kisses you a lot, haurchefant's little mogchamp, i'm just really sad about haurchefant okay, im so sorry for the tags as you can tell I do not take my self seriously, like I have not stopped morning since heavensward, the sex is soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28901004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localoracle/pseuds/localoracle
Summary: A collection of romantic/angsty shorts that I've had ideas for while playing FFXIV. These are entirely self-indulgent and I will only be taking one question at this time.Am I okay?No, Haurchefant ruined me ♡
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone & Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone/Reader, Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Chambers

Haurchefant says your name like a sigh in his sleep.

It’s all reverence like the way the Ishgardian’s whisper Halone’s name. A silent worship in the still, cold air, and even though you were shivering moments ago, there is not a better place that you can think to be. 

Ishgard and it’s many faces have pushed themselves into your heart like needles, and now you worry that if you were to lose even one, you would never recover. 

But the needles only embed themselves deeper as Haurcefant’s long frame curls around you, the heat of his breath fettering against your cheek, his hands seeking yours so he can press soft kisses to the very tips of your fingers. 

He is asleep, his expression soft and vulnerable, lips slightly parted only to curl at the corners when you scoot closer. 

You don’t close your eyes in fear of something, but the fear dissipates in the face of his smile. In the face of him. 

Pressing your brow against his chest, you breathe in deeply. He smells like the soft crackle of fire and snow and metal, but there’s a hint of vanilla beneath it all. A hint of your soap that he uses when he misses you. 

You try to remember where you were gone for him to miss you this much. The last time he did this you’d been gone for months, but your memories blur together, ending and beginning in odd, misty places. 

Absently, you press a kiss to the scar on his shoulder, brow furrowing when you pull back and see another on his chest. Your hands tighten around his, your body instinctively working to get as close as possible as your breath hitches in your throat. 

You don’t remember where that scar came from. You don’t remember it being there. Yet, your vision flashes with Haurchefant stepping in front of you, shield upraised. 

Your eyes burn with unshed tears and you bury your head into the side of the neck, struggling to commit every single curve of his body to your memory. The way your legs tangle. The arm beneath your head and his fingers tangled in your hair. The way your head fits in the crook of his neck or how he presses soft kisses to wherever he can in his sleep. Your fingertips when he grabs your hand. Your brow. Your shoulder when you turn over. 

But tonight you don’t turn over because the thought of not being able to see him feels like committing yourself to a slow bleed out. 

And you think, maybe, some part of him knows why because when his eyes flutter open there’s a deep sadness pooling into the blue, threatening to swallow everything. 

“Haurchefant…” you breathe, and the sadness is gone as his hand moves from yours to cup your cheek and press a long, lingering kiss against your lips. 

He is warm and cold at the same time, but his lips slide against yours like a puzzle sliding into place, staunching the blood leaking from your chest. 

When did it start leaking? 

“Dear heart,” he says, kissing her nose. “You look lovely.” 

You smile, forgetting, for a moment, that your chest is bleeding, and slowly push the soft locks of hair from his face so you can look into his eyes, tracing the curve of his nose with your thumb. “And you look lovelier.” 

He chuckles softly as you wind blue locks of hair around your fingers, peering up at him through your lashes. He has always been all angles, but those angles have always fit you perfectly. Your fingers drift from his nose towards his ears, tracing the curve to the point, and he closes his eyes, sighing through his nose as if he cannot imagine a better place to be. 

Beneath the soft, morning light, you hear the soft crackling of logs, feel the sheets tangle around you in a way that is just slightly off though you can’t put your finger on why. His fingers brush against your cheek, and when you blink there’s an image of him burned into the back of your eyelids. Blood leaking from the side of his mouth. 

You startle but Haurchefant only holds you tighter, a silent misplaced plea in the gloom. There’s something you’re supposed to understand, but it all flies over your head, like light bending to the shadows. 

“Don’t leave,” he says, but you weren’t planning to. It’s the last thing on your mind even if there’s not much left. “I love you.” 

There’s something in the way the confession slips from his lips that leaves you someplace between salvation and damnation. It is the way he regards you through his lashes, cheeks hollow, and his expression softened by shadows, his hair tangled by your fingers and the bed. 

You move to kiss him, unable to simply stare, and closing your eyes is a challenge because how could you look anywhere else when Haurchefant is right here. 

It feels like the first time you’ve seen him in a long time. It feels like the first time you’ve felt his tongue against yours, the touch soft and feather-like, and the sweet taste of chocolate swirling into your kiss like knots forming, pulled taut by unseen hands. 

You move on top of him, savoring the way his hands find your hips, anchoring you to him as your hair spills against the blue backdrop of his. Pulling away, you take a moment to admire the sleepy sky against the white pillow. Your noses brush together and Haurchefant smiles. 

“I always wanted to hold you like this,” he tells you. 

You smile and think of all the times he has told you this. How many times have the two of you found your way into the same bed? Sparring sessions ending in quick, heated breaths. Words of admiration whispered into the crooks of your skin. 

He whispers them now. He tells you about the time he struggled against ten of his men to keep from rushing to your side. He never understands why the Scions send you away as they do. How can they stand to see you off alone? 

And you intertwine your fingers as he speaks. You think that he looks so beautiful when he’s so resolute. 

His lips meet the crook of your neck as he switches between pressing kisses to soft skin and whispering more promises. “I was so shocked to see you with that woman, dearest heart.” 

“But you didn’t question me,” you answer fondly, thinking of Ysayle. 

There’s a shade of sadness over her image. 

You don’t know why. 

“I never would.” And there is such devotion in his eyes that you feel like he might swallow you whole and you think you’d want him too so that you could curl around his heart in the shadow of space he’s made for you there. 

You kiss and it feels like fire the fire crackling over the logs. Long and languid and when he twitches against you, a current of warmth spreads from your center out. Your limbs grow heavier. Everything is slow and decadent beginning from the subtle movement of your lips and ending in the way his hands slowly slip beneath your silken clothes. 

His thumb flicks over your nipple. You arch back as his hand cups your breast, softly caressing as your breath hitches in your throat. 

I love you. The words rise in your head, unbidden. The hollow truth ringing through you as his hand brushes against your core, his fingers working decadent circles against you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

You lean into him, breathing hard as he whispers your name. Tells you how beautiful you are. Pulls moans from your mouth with each movement of his calloused fingers. The words in your head slur together. A refrain. I love you. I love you. I loveyouiloveyouiloveyou. 

He likes it when you come undone for him. He likes seeing the tension relax from your face, and he likes the spark in your eye when the pleasure crescendos and the song finishes. Hair sticks to your forehead as you shove him down, taking his length in your hand to lower yourself on him. 

And you like the way his eyes widen as if he still can’t believe you choose him. Again and again. 

Your eyes water as the song starts anew and Haurchefant pulls you into a kiss, soft and sweet. As you drift apart, he sees the odd look in your eyes and then it’s mirrored in his as if he knows. His arms wrap around you and he flips you onto your back so that he’s on top, propped up on his forearms so he can kiss you as his hips continue to rock against yours in long, deep strokes that leave you mewling, fingers digging desperately into his back. 

He’s solid and real and warm and something is dreadfully wrong because the refrain in your head is changing. 

I miss you. It says. Over and over again as if each breath Haurchefant steals from you is laced with it. I miss you I miss you I miss you. 

“Haurchefant,” you whine. 

“I know,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your lips and then to your shoulder. “I know, my heart, I know.”

Your back arches beneath his touch, desperate to get even closer. There is a needle in your heart being slowly removed and you fear that it is the biggest one. It hurts. It hurts. And the world is shifting around you as Haurchefant’s cheeks turn red, the softness in his expression turning to vulnerability as you both fall together, succumbing to pleasure that rocks through you like a wave. 

Everything between the two of you has always been mirrored. It starts with admiration. Then love and lust. And the love only grows. Haurchefant is your other half. The person always waiting for you when you round the corner with open arms. You can’t even count the number of times you’ve wandered Ishgard looking for him only to find him looking for you too. 

A turn and then you two would startle back, shocked at the want mirrored in each other’s gaze. You know you will never find a love like this again. That Haurchefant is and will always be the love of your life, but the fact that you know this, and the fact that your thoughts turn to past tense as if he is gone while he is inside of you makes a sob erupt from your throat as you tighten your arms around him. 

He blurs at the edges, and the fire is no longer crackling in the fireplace though you still see the logs burning. 

Your nostrils burn with the scent of smoke as if the fire has gone out. 

But it’s still burning. 

You close your eyes to banish the image only to open them again in fear of Haurchefant disappearing. 

Why is everything so complicated? 

He pauses in his thrusts at the sight of your tears, concern twisting his expression, but you rock against him, desperate to keep the motion, and before long he is pushing into you one last time, his member twitching as he cums and you cum with him. 

He presses a kiss to your brow. Your nose. Your cheeks. Your lips. “I love you,” he tells you between each kiss. 

You knot your fingers in the sheets, arching to meet his lips. “I love you,” you tell him, eyes drifting shut. 

And when you go to kiss him, to show him just how much you need him, you are met with air. 

There is no warm presence above you. Your nightgown is intact, your hair swept into a braid. His fingers had not painted paths through the locks, and his lips had not left yours swollen. The fire in your room has died down to embers, and if you’re cold because of it, you wouldn’t know because all you can process is that Haurchefant is not here. He is not warm and leaving promises on your fingertips. 

You think of his grave, of his head in your lap as his fingers reached for you, asking for a smile. There’s a hole in his chest that should have been in yours. It is in yours, really, because without Haurchefant you’ve been slowly bleeding out, fading into an abyss. 

Haurchefant is colder than you.

When you finally pull yourself free of the sheets you’ve tangled yourself in, you make your way to the mirror in your little room in Aymeric’s home where you stay because the inn feels odd without Haurchefant waiting downstairs. 

Though you think he may have taken this haven away from you as well. 

There’s an emptiness in your reflection, yawning behind your eyes. For a moment, you think you can see yourself bleeding out. One of those heroes, you’ve always been warned against. 

The ones that bleed and bleed and bleed because they love so much that they will risk themselves for it all. 

Just like Haurchefant. 

Just like you. 

But there’s a nastiness to it all. You stare at your reflection, expression blank. Haurchefant wanted to save people because he was good. 

You want to save people because you want to be consumed. 

You’ve always been like this. Waiting to be swallowed whole by something or someone. From the moment you discovered you were the Warrior of Light, you’ve been waiting and wanting because at that moment your existence stopped being yours. It belonged to Hydaelen. To the scions. There was no saying no. There was only yes and praying that you didn’t die. 

But in Ishgard, you were you again, and Haurchefant is the one who made it that way. 

And when he died, when he died when it should have been you, you think you may have died anyway. 

You grab your dagger from where it sits on your dresser and cut off the braid at the nape of your neck. 

You smile at your reflection the way Haurchefant wanted you to do, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes, but for a moment you see him behind you. 

You let him consume you. 


End file.
